


let down your idols

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Arguing, Complicated Relationships, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Sex, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Minor Self Harm, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, fpPOV for two sections, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: he tightens his grip on the mug, takes a long drink even when it burns his throat on the way down, thriving off the scalding liquid. he hates vulnerability. hates how he breaks down like this, messy and scattered and all, tattered pieces of some fucking cloth, open and ready for someone to open the door right now---just his fucking luck.(or, hinata contemplates his complex position, placed in the role of a hero, directly between servitude and godhood.)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 12
Kudos: 91





	let down your idols

(i don’t know how long i’ve been standing here.

staring at a mirror. not shivering. still. but, i’m myself, kinda, and i’m fixating on the mirror. kinda wanna punch it. see it shatter. feel the pain. cuz i don’t feel a lot, right now. just the buzz of a bit of alcohol and the reminder of-

-

-the world, on my shoulders. i can balance a lot on my fingertips. every bit of responsibility, everything i do. then it sinks on my back, presses me down; i fall asleep a bit too fast. i’m exhausted. i can’t shrug it off.

i don’t want to let down my idols.

shaking. just my hands, i think. i know why. the information in my head is really loud. i always dazed through anatomy class. now, i have too much understanding of medical things. it’s why i blank out and do surgeries, when i have to. for my friends.

so i guess i didn’t let them down?

i’m myself. maybe. i have a greenish hazel eye and a scarlet burgundy one that my hair usually covers. my hair is getting long. it’s not as spiky as it used to be. maybe sonia can cut it. i don’t know if izuru will let her. 

izuru. kamukura. i’m too tired to care. he likes being called kamukura. well, he doesn’t like anything, actually. but he’s fine with formal shit. people still call me hinata, here, but. when you share a headspace with someone, i feel like you can be a bit closer than with other people.

not that kamukura is any more pleasant than people on the island.

but he’s part of me. so it’s different.

i leave the mirror eventually. pull the blinds shut, shove my covers over my head. i sweat. it’s so fucking hot in july. and i’m thinking about how i left k-fuck it, fuyuhiko- with some alcohol i didn’t finish. he’s probably drunk off his ass. i should help him. i’m not a bystander, i either start things or i… fix them. i guess. but what do i say, aside from “give me another bottle”? nekomaru gets pissed when we get pissed. haha. 

i don’t know. 

i cry a little, just large fucking sobs for no reason. it’s not like anybody else can see me like that, anyway. if they did, that’d suck, cuz i want to reassure them i’m okay. when i’m not okay, it’s like… nobody can do shit. all we’ve got is the whole bottle metaphor shit, too real to really be like that. and we all die in the end so who cares about whether or not i’m happy? i don’t really matter. i’m just a friend. protagonist. person. atlas, if we’re going with what komaeda says.

i think that’s why i was staring at the mirror so long.

i fall asleep after that.)

-/-

_ lips are soft against his temple, whisper a little thing, murmur, trace down his jaw and loosen his collar. words that don’t make sense, but a feeling in his chest like honeysuckle is alive and growing to tear at his throat. pernicious claws with a hunger for viscera, an angel’s kiss atop a bruise, endlessly loving. he doesn’t know why, but his heart wants to rip to shreds so violently, because he knows that scars aren’t enough to be kissed away. he wants to be dust, wants to be good enough. _

_ familiar faces rip him to pieces, laugh in mockery. he always knew he deserved this. _

_ he wakes up. _

-/-

hinata makes himself coffee at four am. 

there are specks of tea leaves in his cup. he shrugs, ignores it. hardly able to see it above the dark liquid, anyway. won’t taste any different. it’s still bitter. still burning.

he sits down at a table too big for him. there are other, smaller tables. he sits here. he isn’t sure why he expects other people to rise from the ground and attend to his every need. it’s-

-

-it’s selfish, that want. wanting everything to shut the fuck up, everyone to shut the fuck up and stop smiling, stop crying, and just give a shit. or, just stay silent, so achingly silent that he breaks down and finally, finally he can feel something. but nothing is ever  _ silent,  _ and people are  _ recovering  _ and he is  _ breaking  _ and he is  _ nothing--  _ no, he’s  _ everything _ , a shitshow of a mistake with a god complex and a library of shit he doesn’t need to know, fixing everything, doing everything, can’t take a break for a second because he  _ needs  _ that control--  _ i can handle this, i can handle everything _ \-- and maybe he  _ shouldn’t,  _ not  _ good  _ enough for control, but he just needs people to shut the fuck up and needs the island to shut the fuck up so that he can try and grasp the fact that he’s a piece of shit. 

he’s too  _ smart  _ to break. too good, too  _ incredible _ \-- naegi said once that it’s good that he feels like that about himself, that he  _ should  _ be proud, but he  _ isn’t _ . he’s filled to the brim with the ravenous thought of  _ i am flawless worship me worship me  _ but he doesn’t  _ want  _ it, he doesn’t  _ care  _ about himself, he’s not  _ better  _ or  _ superior _ , he’s lesser than everyone, lesser than himself, but he’s still  _ too smart  _ to let himself be upset, be  _ vulnerable. _

he tightens his grip on the mug, takes a long drink even when it burns his throat on the way down, thriving off the scalding liquid. he hates vulnerability. hates how he breaks down like  _ this,  _ messy and scattered and all, tattered pieces of some fucking cloth, open and ready for someone to open the door  _ right now- _

-

-just his fucking luck.

“hinata-kun.”

“komaeda.”

the drink burns his throat, tears burn his eyes. but komaeda has always felt cold. judging. thoughtful and interesting and maybe someone he’s interested in, too, but also pushes hinata far, so far. too high expectations, too low expectations-- meets hinata’s lack of self esteem (or so they call it) with the brunt of adoration, meets their own self neglect, additive, with the reminder of how worthless they are. artificial, manufactured, stepping stones, worthless.

hinata isn’t stupid. he knows that komaeda loves him. knows that it’s not something he could ever acknowledge, reciprocate, or handle. knows that when komaeda tries to tear him down, it means some fucked up thing like  _ i hate you but i think you’re wonderful and perfect and i want you to be happy and inspire hope but i hate the fundamental being of your character.  _ or something like that, paraphrased. he  _ knows _ that, knows that whatever komaeda feels is unconditional, knows it’s consuming, knows that if hinata ever  _ showed  _ any upset it would tear at komaeda but just inspire him more, and he isn’t-

-

-despite it all, he doesn’t want to disappoint him. he knows that he can, knows that komaeda wouldn’t sugarcoat it, knows that komaeda wouldn’t view him any differently. he knows komaeda is bred of so many contradictions he can’t understand, and he knows (or, thinks, or, believes, or, maybe he just needs a therapist) that he’s just a person, just a man, but komaeda thinks he’s something he’s not. thinks that he’s  _ incredible _ . and what happens when he’s stripped of that, when komaeda finally realizes  _ this guy isn’t actually all that good _ ?

he doesn’t want to let him down.

“sleepless night?” komaeda asks, snaps hinata out of half-formed useless thoughts with a little grin that kind of hides in the early morning. “or are you starting the day with productivity already?” his hair shines a bit, too, with the way the moonlight comes in. komaeda’s pretty. 

reminds hinata of a graveyard, sometimes. 

he shrugs, drinks more coffee, grumbles out a, “trying.” it isn’t a full answer, but komaeda just hums. something about komaeda irritates hinata in a visceral sense, makes him want to claw something apart, but at least the other gets hinata’s cues and statements. even if neither of them understand each other, they can keep up. they can try.

“how hopeful,” komaeda replies in a way that hinata knows should be joking. 

it hurts anyway. 

when did he become so sensitive, such a disappointment? he finishes off the coffee. sighs, in the tone of someone who is hating, hating of many everythings, and he asks, “did you sleep well?” because he cares, he cares, he  _ feels _ . empathy is a pain in the ass, because he’s tired, and he’s hating. 

komaeda smiles wider. “haven’t yet!”

“mm,” is all hinata says back.

he gets up to wash his cup at the same time komaeda slides into a seat, with a similar ease, hinata thinks, of how komaeda moves to his side whenever they’re together. the two of them don’t interact like people-- interact like half-assed lovers with nothing to lose, maybe, but not like either of them feel real. hinata feels  _ too _ real, sometimes, but komaeda has always felt like some kind of fever dream. it’s part of the appeal.

he likes being asleep around him. doesn’t trust him. but he needs it.

(maybe in the margins of his shakespearean plays, komaeda scribbled something about that being love. hinata knows shakespeare. but he’ll never read it with the other. doesn’t want to sit through macbeth when he knows how banquo’s life pans out, knows that komaeda sobs about it sometimes because he’s seen him in the act. caught it, almost, like it’s scandalous, like komaeda crying does complicated shit to his head-- but oh, it does. maybe in the margins; fountain pens.)

hand against his chin, komaeda looks at him with a sheen of infatuated interest in his eye as he asks, “when are you speaking to naegi-kun, next?”

he almost rolls his eyes. “i don’t know. soon? i guess today, if i can get a hold of him.” he sets the mug to the side to dry, leans against the fridge. “why? did you want to talk to him?”

“no.” komaeda taps his jaw, a bit. almost in thought. or something. “just wondering.”

“yeah.” 

“mhm.”

hinata half wants to leave, half wants to stay. sometimes, he feels so like nothing that he can hardly exist in any capacity, just wants to melt into the ground and be trampled on because he can’t bear the weight of it all today, knows he can’t heal, knows they all die anyway and it’ll be when hinata is still upset, still angry, still resentful, because he can’t handle everything and he just wants to feel somewhat okay for a second, tear his hair out and be held, but he won’t let himself because  _ he doesn’t deserve that. _

two mutually exclusive thoughts.

“you should try and get some sleep,” it slips out before hinata can stop it. he clenches his fist, almost in preparation.

komaeda bats his eyes, stands up, lingers in the space for a few moments. “is that an order, kamukura-kun?”

he’s perceptive enough to tell the difference between hinata and kamukura instantly. he knows, also, that his name isn’t enough to draw the other to the front. it’s just annoyance, just something to seep underneath hinata’s skin and rip at him. “it’s not an order, komaeda. just a thought.”

his smile tips over the edge, wider. “thoughts of me in bed? how scandalous. though, i suppose having me at any kind of disadvantage would be wonderful as stress relief. we’ve done it before, in any case. is that what you’re suggesting? because i would  _ love  _ to help you feel less pent up!”

it’s such a mistranslation, but hinata’s cheeks still flush. just a bit. “i’m not trying to fuck you, komaeda, i’m trying to get you to be less deprived. god.” he lets some annoyance kick in, inflect on his tone. he doesn’t like thinking about sex-- at least, not theirs. it’s more vulnerable than anything, yet always  _ reduced  _ to komaeda beaming at the thought of being used _ ,  _ even though hinata makes it explicitly clear every time that komaeda isn’t just some toy. they do it to release stress, sure, but there are other feelings, too. he wishes he wouldn’t pretend like that’s not the case when it’s pretty damn clear.

sex feels dirty. sex with  _ him  _ feels dirty.

he pouts. hinata wants to rip it away--  _ you don’t have the right to--  _ “ah, okay! well, whatever hinata-kun says!” he’s not compliant. he’ll probably stay awake for three days straight just to spite him. or, he’ll keep arguing this point, slip into his bed while he tries to get his bearings and maybe ride him through six am, like they’ve done before, leaving hinata relieved yet tormented, just another way to win an argument and another way to say  _ i love you  _ without actually saying it, and-

-

-hinata should fuck off before that. “mm. goodnight.”

“lark, not a nightingale,” komaeda chirps.

he allows himself a single smirk, before he slips out the door, “i always thought i was more of a paris.”

he can hear komaeda laughing as he leaves, walking past the cabins and to a place tucked behind the beach. thinking, maybe,  _ finally _ \-- a quick act-- and he feels a bit of him sink to his stomach.

-/-

“hello, hinata-kun! or, ah, is it kamukura-kun?”

“it’s hinata.”

“alright!”

“yeah. hey, naegi. how have things been?”

“... complicated. but, good. how is everything at jabberwock?”

“electricity is running fine after souda got around to repairs. we’re still keeping an eye on the tomatoes and mint to see if they grow well; komaeda has taken on the task of gardening, mostly, though koizumi and owari keep their eyes on it.”

“if we got more seeds, would you want them?”

“it would be better to gauge how the soil takes it, objectively, but… sure. there’s no harm in having extra seeds.”

“mhm. continue your report. ah, this is a bit  _ informal  _ for a report. n-not that that’s an issue! i’m not togami-kun, in any case, so-”

“yeah. tsumiki is still administering everyone’s medication, as well as conducting komaeda’s chemotherapy. nidai and sonia worked out a slight exercise schedule for everyone, though only a small few are attending, currently. we’re still finishing up some repairs around the island, but most of the critical places have been cleaned up and redone, as you know. that’s the brief synopsis of everything.”

“okay! how… is recovery going?”

“it’s been fine.”

“fine?”

“yeah. we’re doing fine.”

“to my previous offer of psychologists, would you be interested in it? i’m not trying to press, hinata-kun, but i think it would be good for you. all of you.”

“i’ll let you know.”

“ah, um, alright. how have you been?”

“fine, as i’ve said.”

“not too stressed out?”

“nah.” 

“...”

“is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“... no. thank you for allowing me to check in, hinata-kun. we’ll continue sending supplies whenever we can, then. and if any of you need any support at all, you can always call me, yeah?”

“yeah.”

“then, have a good rest of your day!”

“you too.”

_ click.  _

-/-

he’s tearing out his hair in the corner again.

_ I DON’T KNOW HOW TO BE BETTER! _

hinata sobs, uglily, a sight he shows  _ nobody _ , as he curls into the edges of the bathtub, a sliver of light peeking through an ajar door. his eyes burn, swollen-- nobody can  _ ever tell  _ when he cries, and he hates that-- and his stomach is filled with the churning discontent of existing like this. shoved in a place where he  _ can’t breathe _ , because he  _ knows  _ he has to be good, he can’t  _ feel _ , he has to be  _ better  _ than everyone, he has to  _ recover  _ or else they’ll  _ never get off this fucking island _ \- and it’s too much  _ pressure _ \- 

- _ and who even is he _ -

- _ if not a failure? _

he’s fighting off a migraine as blunt fingernails claw down his face, his eyes squeezed shut, or else his red iris will find its way to reflect in every not-quite-mirror in this room. he’s shaking, shaking, and he knows that in ten minutes he’ll be laughing with his friends and giving them answers to everything he doesn’t know yet but  _ right now _ , he feels  _ impossibly small _ .

(what’s the extent of his empathy? if someone hates him, will he hate him too?

or is that a misportrayal?)

he’s tired tired tired, and he  _ wishes  _ he could  _ scream  _ loud enough that someone would  _ come _ , would listen to him say  _ i can’t really do this anymore, i’ve lost all of my strength, i don’t want to disappoint you _ , but nobody would listen to him sputter his way through such hopelessness, not when they’re all facing the same.

he can’t tell fuyuhiko, his drinking buddy, that he’s scared it’s all that feels better. he can’t tell akane, who is fighting here way through an eating disorder, that he isn’t sure how much food he can keep inside of him before the urge to control it kicks in. he can’t tell komaeda, with a litany of suicide attempts he’s never tried, that the two of them are ripped from the same fabric  _ like he’s always said _ . because, because, because-- nothing is  _ wrong  _ with hinata. he’s traumatized, but he’s  _ okay _ , comparatively. 

he’s just  _ scared,  _ and  _ tired,  _ and he  _ doesn’t want to let a single person down _ -

-because he’s the ultimate everything-

-but part of him wants to worship the ultimates, still-

-because that roots back to the days where spring finally bloomed and everything was okay.

he gets up abruptly, washes his face and scrubs at his skin until all of it is red, runs a finger through his hair and drops torn strands into the trash can, knocks the door closed with his elbow and doesn’t look back, collapses in his bed and falls asleep right then.

and if any of the others saw him like this, he’d be stripped of all his armor-- ebony hair and heterochromatic thoughts-- and left for dead.

-/-

“ah, hinata-kun! i was looking for you!”

hinata stifles a sigh, turns to look at komaeda with a small smile. his arms are full of empty soda cans, and he’s spent all of the morning checking in on his friends, making notes of things to ask naegi, running errands for them, et cetera. and, it’s not really a  _ bother _ , but he’s already tired and breaking a sweat but he doesn’t want to let a single one of them down. in any case, he can temporarily focus on his friend (haha) in front of him. “yeah? did you need something?”

“nothing in particular!” komaeda says cheerfully, “but i  _ did  _ want to spend time with you, if you would allow yourself to be around someone as vile and disgusting as me!”

he mentally filters out the self deprecation-- a fairly automatic process-- and answers the question underlying. “sure. i have to get these cans to mioda; she’s doing… something, with them. but you’re free to come with.”

komaeda bobs his head almost comically. “ah, of course! i would never want to distract hinata-kun from his important tasks! i’m just grateful you’re paying me any attention at all, haha! it truly is more than i deserve!”

_ you’re both infuriating and distracting,  _ hinata partly wants to say, but he can already take a guess on how that’s going to pan out, the whole  _ distracting _ thing, and he isn’t feeling the whole blatant-attempts-at-seduction gig right now. maybe after he drops off these cans. god knows he needs to do  _ something  _ enjoyable.

_ like komaeda,  _ his brain helpfully supplies in addition. he tunes it out.

“yeah, no problem,” he replies absentmindedly. “what have you been up to?”

“haha, nothing destructive or despairing, i assure you! i wouldn’t want to undo all the progress everyone has made cleaning this place up!” the assurance isn’t really needed, since hinata would  _ probably  _ be able to tell if komaeda blew up an island, but still. “it’s really  _ hopeful _ , how all the ultimates-- and you, of course-- have come together to make this place truly something beautiful!” his voice drips with adoration, and every second makes hinata’s throat tighten, his thoughts strain. “you’ve been working  _ so hard _ , hinata-kun! i’m sure you’re used to that, but i wonder… will this hard work be undone, too? surely something this wonderful cannot last! i wonder if kamukura-kun has any predictions… not that i would be so impertinent to beckon him unwanted!”

_ i want this to mean something _ , he debates confessing.  _ i’ve put  _ **_everything_ ** _ into this, sacrificed so fucking much-- and all for it to end like that? what the hell? don’t we deserve something better? don’t  _ i  _ deserve something better? _

_ (maybe i don’t.) _

“if you’re thinking about your luck,” hinata starts, clearing his throat of all the things he wishes he could say, “then nothing’s going to happen. kamukura has your luck, now. nothing drastic will go down with him around.”

“i wonder, then, if you’re a catalyst, hinata-kun.” 

hinata blinks. it’s a non sequitur; at least, at first glance. but he’s  _ fairly  _ certain he knows what komaeda is trying to get out, and it’s… sudden. not very sensical. hinata doesn’t  _ provoke  _ luck, doesn’t  _ neutralize  _ it, doesn’t  _ make it faster.  _ all he does is serve as a vessel for another vessel, of whom carries the luck. he doesn’t play a part in this--  _ and thank god for that, because luck isn’t controlled _ \-- so why is komaeda implying that…?

komaeda laughs a little. “ah, nevermind. i suppose it sounds silly, when said aloud.”

“i mean, it  _ doesn’t. _ ” hinata glances over at the other. a wide smile amidst a pale face, hair in a low ponytail, his olive green jacket still on. he almost makes some intellectual comment about heatstroke, but the two of them have already gone through  _ that  _ so many times that hinata knows komaeda is going to turn it into something like  _ hinata-kun, do you just want to see me with my clothes off _ ? 

in any case.

“you can elaborate, if you want,” he offers. “i’ll listen.”

with a shrug, komaeda smiles wider. “you’re so kind, hinata-kun!” and hinata  _ already knows  _ where he’s going to go with that, “you’re so, so kind! it’s almost sickening!”

_ i’m not as nice as you make me out to be,  _ hinata grits his teeth, a bit.  _ and you’re the sickening one, holding a list of diagnoses and medications on your tongue, whenever we kiss it’s  _ **_bitter_ ** _ with saccharine smiles, and i’m not fucking nice, i’m an asshole- _

_ -but please please  _ **_please_ ** _ feed the parts of me that want to know that i’m still good enough because i’m really not i’m just the only one people think is good enough but i’m actually a pathetic asshole who runs on spite and- _

“hinata-kun?” when he comes to, the two of them have stopped on a sandy path, komaeda frowning as he briefly touches hinata’s forehead. “you aren’t ill, but you don’t look as if you’re feeling so well. are you staying hydrated, eating well? it really is irresponsible to neglect yourself, you know!” he chides, and it feels like a sunburn.

he shakes his head a bit, straightens himself. “i’m fine, komaeda.”

komaeda tilts his head, but allows the other to keep walking. after silently following him for a while, he breaks the quiet and says, “lying isn’t an attractive trait, hinata-kun.”

“good to know,” he replies dryly.

“the truth is absolute, and the truth brings hope on its horizon. i thought you would know this-- or at  _ least  _ kamukura-kun.”

hinata scoffs. “and which page bid you that?”

“i’m not talking about romeo and juliet, hinata-kun,” komaeda retorts with a neutral expression, “but the point is in that literature, still. it’s disappointing, really, to see you lie so  _ brazenly _ .”

hinata stops walking, turns to look at the other. komaeda’s always been a bit taller than hinata, but the difference seems a lot  _ larger  _ when they’re inches apart and arguing. when komaeda has the upper hand. when komaeda is actually  _ right  _ about something. “so,” he starts in a low, edged voice, “what’s the lie, komaeda?”

komaeda crosses his arms and almost  _ pouts. _ it’d be slightly cute, if the situation wasn’t fucked. “you aren’t doing ‘fine’, like you said. you really should stop pretending like you are. i’m sure any of the ultimates on this island would be  _ endlessly  _ willing to help you out, instead of you taking everything on your shoulders selfishly.”

his mouth feels dry. he vaguely recognizes it as anger. “...  _ selfishly _ ?”

“yes!” komaeda steps forward, just a little. “you’re a stubborn, selfish ex-reserve that makes himself an atlas without the  _ slightest  _ indication to! at the  _ least _ , you could  _ listen  _ to your  _ superiors _ , instead of-”

“you think i do this shit for fun?” hinata interrupts, all his thoughts washed out. komaeda looks utterly unimpressed, still, and hinata has the knee-jerk urge to punch him. he refrains, barely, and continues in a voice too loud to be considered something  _ other  _ than a shout. “you think i signed up to be a hero? you think that i fucking  _ wanted  _ this? that all i ever wanted was people to sit on their  _ fucking  _ asses and play god with my fucking  _ head,  _ you think i wanted-”

“you signed up for the kamukura project, hinata-kun,” komaeda asserts coolly. “you only have yourself to blame for th-”

“shut the  **_FUCK_ ** up, komaeda!” hinata watches as komaeda’s jaw snaps shut, his eyes flicker with something like  _ fear _ , his hands clenched almost in  _ irritation _ \-- it sends hinata off the edge, the relief he  _ needed _ , after all this  _ time _ . “everyone tells me what to fucking do! ‘hinata, help me with  _ this _ !’ and ‘hinata, can you  _ please  _ help me with that!’ people trip over themselves fucking  _ asking  _ me to do things for them, and i  _ do _ , because i  _ give a shit _ . and if someone ever  _ wanted  _ me to stop, i  _ would _ , but  _ nobody  _ wants to be a hero, not the way that i’ve  _ always  _ been, nobody  _ wants  _ that, they’re  _ perfectly happy  _ with me doing it all for them at their control. and-and  _ maybe _ , doing all this shit makes me a  _ pushover _ , or some kind of  _ stepping stone for hope _ , but at least-” he takes in a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is empty, 

_ “at least i’ve never  _ **_let anybody down!_ ** _ ”  _

for a moment, they stand there; hinata’s chest heaves while komaeda watches him. it takes minutes for anything to happen, and what eventually breaks the silence is hinata dropping all the cans to the ground. komaeda  _ winces _ , and the other slumps his shoulders in defeat. still, they stand there. still, they wait.

quietly, hinata lets out a small sigh, closing his eyes as komaeda reaches out and rests a hand on his jaw. the oversaturation, the noise, the anger dims for a moment-- it’s all revived again when komaeda whispers, “hinata-kun…?”

he pushes him away, and the worst thing is: komaeda  _ lets  _ him. he looks at hinata with something that isn’t  _ compassion _ , but it’s gentle and soft and  _ irritating _ -

-hinata leaves the cans on the floor as he walks away, calling out over his shoulder, “mioda can get her own shit if she wants it.”

komaeda doesn’t follow him.

when hinata gets back to his cabin, he slams the door shut, and he  _ knows  _ that it’s only a matter of time before someone checks on him, the lock still broken, so he waits and he waits. and he waits and he waits, but  _ nobody ever does. _

he doesn’t blame them. he laughs, shutting the blinds and tucking himself in as if it isn’t eleven in the morning. he doesn’t blame them at  _ all _ .

as he wraps himself up in discontent and anger, he thinks that  _ maybe _ , he should stop hearing pleas where there aren’t any at all. stop waiting for help when he’s never once accepted it. stop killing himself over work when the work can hardly be called that. 

but who would he be, then?

-/-

(i think komaeda has a point with some of the shit he says. 

i always thought, how could he so  _ easily  _ become a servant to despair? i mean, fuck, we  _ all  _ did, but  _ jeez _ . he went, like, all for it. collar and everything. he still has the scarring from that shit, too, so in a way, he’s kind of stuck as a servant forever. and he seems  _ fine  _ with that, and i’ve never really understood it.

but, hey. maybe i’m just a hypocrite, or something. cuz, look. i made myself a servant without despair even motivating me, right? 

except, i don’t really think i’m lesser than everything, right? like, sure, i don’t  _ like  _ myself, but sometimes i’m pretty damn sure i’m, like, the best person alive. so, me and him aren’t the same. i’m not a servant, i’m just…

fuck. i don’t know. 

fuck this shit. fuck komaeda, fuck my friends, fuck kamukura, fuck hope, fuck  _ everything. _ all anything can do is let me down,

and i’m so fucking tired of everything being worthless.

-

i’m so fucking  _ tired _ of being so worthless.)

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted this to be a little bit longer, but. i. hm. it's a vent fic, so i'll give myself some slack there.
> 
> i really like, just... generally, exploring the spaces between a superiority and inferiority complex, especially where those two overlap. it's a really messy place to be, and it's confusing as fuck, as a whole. also tried to fuck around with perspective, which is pretty clear, judging by the distinct things in this. i don't have much commentary that's actually worthwhile, i'm realizing. sorry haha.
> 
> until next time, i guess.


End file.
